Love Her Like She's Leaving
by absedarian
Summary: You fight against your feelings for the longest time, harder than you fought many battles in your lifetime. You refuse to accept that she makes you weak in the knees, makes your heart melt when she gives you her most sheepish grin, makes you forget who you are, whose daughter she is. Swan Queen, inspired by Brad Paisley's song of the same name.


**A/N: This stoy jumped at me sideways on my way home today. Seems my muse needed a small break from my other stories ... now I can get back to the regularly scheduled program. I hope.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just borrow them to make them happy.**

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You fight against your feelings for the longest time, harder than you fought many battles in your lifetime. You refuse to accept that she makes you weak in the knees, makes your heart melt when she gives you her most sheepish grin, makes you forget who you are, whose daughter she is. You fight yourself until you can't any longer, one night, when she breathes those three words into your ear as you're coming down from the earth-shattering orgasm she just coaxed out of your body and your walls crumble like so much dust.

She looks at you, balancing on her arms, fear and anxiety in her green eyes, searching your face for a reaction to what you know was a completely spontaneous and almost certainly involuntary utterance. You know how that feels, you've bitten the inside of your cheek often enough to stop yourself from doing the same thing, saying the same words.

Your traitorous heart swells in your chest, and you smile at her. Her torso sags in relief, her arms giving out, and she sobs softly into your breast - in something akin to relief, you assume - as you run your hands through her hair. You tears fall silently, knowing that one day she was going to leave you.

You come up with a new plan: love her like she's leaving.

The first time you send her flowers you do it on a whim. You saw the bright colors and they reminded you of her smile, and you say as much in the card you have attached to the bouquet. She comes to your house that night, shy and just a little confused, wondering if she's missed some occasion. When you tell her the flowers simply reminded you of her and that you wanted her to have something to brighten her day - and the drab sheriff's station - she gives you one of her full smiles, the one that makes her green eyes light up. The smile that makes you fall for her even harder whenever she wears it because you know it's reserved just for you.

You send her flowers every so often just because you can and because, to everyone's surprise including her own, she loves them. They make her smile and sometimes say those three little words, and that's almost all you want from life these days.

You decide to continue to love her like she's leaving, hoping she never will.

The first gift you give her - an unexpected gift at an unexpected time - is a scrapbook filled with photos and stories about your son's early years. She accepts it with shaking hands, gently, carefully, telling you she will cherish it forever. She spends hours combing through it, studying every photo, every drawing, making you tell her all the anecdotes she's not heard yet. At the end of the evening she rewards you by making love to you until you're hoarse from screaming her name. For the first time in many months you're actually okay with the fact that your son doesn't live two doors down the hall at the moment.

The second big gift you give her - there are many smaller ones scattered over the weeks and months - is the key to your house and the nervous, roundabout way you have of asking her to move in with you. She looks at you with those eyes that have seen too much and you know she wonders if it's just because of Henry. Of course you want him to move back home, but _this_ question at _this_ time is for her. You press the key into her hand, telling her that it's her choice, and you don't mention that you might wither and wilt if she said no.

She moves in with you the next day and brings Henry with her. That night you have dinner as a family, in your home, and you're happy.

You plan to work twice as hard now, to love her like she's leaving, knowing that would kill you.

The next morning is the first time she finds a random note. The little yellow post-it is stuck to the back of her badge and she finds it just as she's leaving to go to work. She reads the three words, turns around, and pulls you into a kiss you won't easily forget. Henry watches with a smile, but what he actually says sounds more like _eewwwww_. He's a teenager and you're his mothers, so you forgive him instantly.

You write small notes for her every day, sometimes hiding them, sometimes just sticking them to the fridge or the bathroom mirror. The one time she has to go away for a few days on business to Augusta, you hide as many notes as you can in as many places as you can in her duffel bag and car. There are notes in her underwear, her tanktops, her wallet, her toiletry bag. You write more and more things on these notes every day, surprised at how small your handwriting can get.

She calls you every night from her hotel room and tells you which notes she found, asking if there are more. You miss her terribly and you can tell she misses you too. She refuses to end the call, telling you she can't sleep without hearing you breathing beside her. You both fall asleep listening to the other's even breaths, you wrapped around her pillow and she - although she only tells you once she's back home - in one of your shirts that she snagged at the last moment.

She never finds all the notes hidden in her bag and car, but when she comes home you make love all night long and she tells you she will never let you go.

Maybe your plan is working then, but you decide it's better to be safe than sorry, and you continue to love her like she's leaving.

The next gift you give her is unplanned, but those are the best gifts of all. You find a box filled with your notes to her in her bedside table, and as far as you can tell she kept every single one of them. You empty out the box and take the notes, a plan forming in your mind.

That night she comes home, looking despondent and when you ask her what's up she refuses to say at first, but then admits that she hadn't found her daily note and that she missed the feeling of being loved that it gave her. You kiss her and ask her to follow you to the study where you hand her a wrapped gift. She rips it open in that carefree way she has and discovers a Moleskine notebook inside. She opens it and finds all the notes you ever wrote her, all collected in as much of an order you could remember.

You apologize when she cries, but she stops you, saying her three little magic words over and over again. You kiss her like it's the last kiss you'll ever have and then you take her to bed. Henry has a sleepover and you plan on making her scream, loving her like she's leaving.

One year, three months, and twenty-three days after that first time you shared those three words and you stopped fighting yourself, she sends Henry off to his grandparents with a wink, so you know something is up. You expect the worst like you always do, it's your nature. Maybe today is the day she will finally leave you, no matter how much you love her.

She leads you to the study and asks you to sit down, which you do as gracefully as you can despite your heart trying to beat its way out of your chest. She looks nervous as she wrings her hands, trying to find the words she needs to say. You wonder for a moment if you should release her from this torture and just leave, but then she clears her throat and digs around in the pocket of her tight jeans. Your heart actually stops for a moment when she gets down on one knee in front of you, holding up the most beautiful ring, intent clear.

She says the same three words again and they still hold all the magic they did the first time. She tells you that she has never felt more loved, more cherished, and that she can't imagine living without you. Your whole body trembles as she gets the question out around vocal chords pressed tight by nerves and feelings. You barely let her finish the question before you're in her arms, kissing her, breathing _yes, yes, yes_ over and over again. She holds you tight and promises you to love you like you're leaving. Every day.

You find the first note on the bathroom mirror the next morning, and it makes you blush.

**The End**


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